


Romantic Date Ideas: A List In Progress

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:13:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11233620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: Steve keeps asking Danny out, Danny keeps saying no. Steve works on a list.....





	Romantic Date Ideas: A List In Progress

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a bit of fluff that got away from me.

The sunset was beautiful that night. Danny didn’t often notice the sunsets, to be honest. They were one of those island sensory things that were too much for him to take, along with the multitudinous rainbows, the dramatic emerald shards of mountain, the sweep and swirl of the cloud cover, the delicate yet pervasive rainstorms, the vivid flora, the overly friendly fauna. There was so much natural stimulation on Oahu, Danny tended to shut it out. Blaring horns, shouted obscenities, foul odors—those were and would remain, his accustomed sensory experiences.

So the fact that he noticed the sunset that night spoke to something extraordinary.

He’d been on a case with Steve that morning. A simple and rather bland thing, one they were following more for possible connections to a bigger case they’d been working on for a while. It had led them lazily around the island that day, leaving them, mid-afternoon, up on the North Shore. Wanting to be careful and make sure they got anything potentially helpful out of it, they’d taken it slow, and by the time they wrapped it up, it was getting towards dinnertime.

“Let’s grab something to eat before we head back to town, bud, what do you say?” Steve asked, slapping Danny on the back as they walked to the truck from the suspect’s house (parking on the North Shore was something of an adventure at times, Danny had learned, and they had a bit of a hike to get back).

“Sure, babe,” he agreed, realizing he was quite hungry as they’d skipped lunch. He rolled his eyes when Steve pulled him closer in response.

“Great! I know just the spot.”

The “spot,” as it turned out, was takeout from a food truck, and then a little drive to a surprisingly secluded beach. Steve, suspiciously, had a picnic blanket and his guitar in the truck. He had been... well, I guess the only way to say it is that Steve had been asking Danny out on a date just about every night for the past month. And Danny had been saying “no.” So it was that, sitting on a blanket watching the sunset, Danny realized he’d accidentally agreed to a “date” with his partner. A picnic on the beach no less, complete with guitar music. He permitted himself a dramatic sigh, but the setting—and the food, which was remarkably good—got through his irritation, and he found himself relaxing and enjoying himself, and forgetting about, well, just about everything. Except Steve, and the sunset.

“There’s nothing like a sunset at the beach, huh, buddy?” Steve asked, having paused in his playing, no doubt noticing Danny’s somewhat distant look.

The big goof sounded satisfied with himself, which reinvigorated Danny’s irritation. “You tricked me.”

Steve grinned. “No idea what you mean.”

Gesturing around them: “This is a date.”

“Naw, Danny, this is just us, on a beach, with food, some good music, and a beautiful sunset.” Steve was still wearing his sunglasses, so Danny couldn’t see his eyes, but he had a feeling they were twinkling.

“Uh-huh,” Danny replied, feeling his eyebrows rise. “How is that not a date, pray tell?”

“Well,” Steve said, putting his guitar down on the blanket, and inching closer to Danny. “First of all, it’s not very romantic.”

Danny actually snorted. “Seriously, babe? Sunset on the beach, on a blanket, playing your guitar? How is that not romantic?”

Steve’s smile turned into a smirk. “Ah-ha,” he said, taking off his sunglasses. “So, that’s something you think is romantic? Good to know.” Danny’d been right, Steve’s eyes definitely were twinkling.

“Uh, yeah. I think if you looked up ‘romantic date ideas’ this would be at the top of the list.”

“Now, that’s a list I’d like to get my hands on....”

“You are impossible.”He took a bite of his food.

“So are you,” Steve replied, setting down his guitar. “Tell me, what else would be on that list, Daniel.”

Around a mouthful of food: “That will only encourage you.”

“That is the idea,” Steve hid his grin behind his drink.

Danny put his food down, took Steve’s drink from him. “You don’t really need encouraging.”

Not managing to hide the grin in time as the cup vanished, Steve added raised eyebrows to his reaction. “No?”

“Uh, no. Witness, tonight.” Taking a sip of Steve’s drink, he handed it back.

“Well, you kept saying no.” He said it as though his response had been perfectly reasonable.

“Gee, I wonder why that might be.” Danny rolled his eyes again. He was doing that a lot lately, probably he should try and stop. It wasn’t exactly adult of him.

Steve’s expression went serious. He leaned closer. “I have no idea, Danny, why don’t you tell me.”

“Um. Because us dating is completely ridiculous, utterly stupid, and a huge huge mistake.”

Still serious: “So you’re saying you don’t like me.”

Danny sighed exasperatedly. “That. Is not. The point.”

A bit of Steve’s grin returned. “I cannot imagine what else the point might be.”

“Seriously? What the point might be? How about we’re partners? Huh?” He’d let too much irritation out, but in all fairness, he’d been allowing it to build up. But Danny softened for his point: “I think there are pretty strong regulations about that, babe.”

Steve’s lips pressed together in the most smug expression Danny had ever seen.

“ _What_.”

“Ways and means, buddy, ways and means.”

Danny almost laughed. “Oh my god, do not tell me you think that applies to this as well?” He turned back to his food.

Steve still looked unbelievably smug, but also very serious. “I can’t see why not.”

“Oh my god, you are impossible.”

“So you’ve said,” Steve paused to take a bite of his own food. “Personally, I think I’m completely possible.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Danny took Steve’s drink again.

Steve looked at him intently. “Neither do your refusals.”

Setting the drink down without taking a sip, Danny rubbed his face in his hands. “Look, we were drunk, okay? Can you please just let it go?”

“Nope. Not gonna happen.” Steve seemed almost pleased by Danny’s growing agitation.

“I am never drinking alone with you again.” (At least he didn’t roll his eyes this time.)

“Wait, would that be on the romantic dates list?”

“ _No_.”

Steve grinned, picked up his guitar, and started playing again.

Shaking his head, rubbing his eyes, Danny held his breath, letting it out slowly. Thing was, maybe it was Danny who couldn’t let that night go. Steve had taken it, their one night of drunken, sloppy, and completely amazing making out on the sofa, and decided they should date. Danny’d taken it and decided it should never happen again.

Because, maybe Steve had been drunk, but Danny hadn’t really been very drunk at all. Or, he had been. But when Steve had moved to kiss him, his head had gone completely clear, he’d felt suddenly completely sober, and more certain about what he wanted than he’d ever remembered feeling. And that had exhilarated him. And then it had terrified him. He’d taken comfort in the fact that he’d been fairly sure Steve had been drunk enough that he’d probably push it off as one of those mistakes that just happen when you’re as messed up, as close, as _intimate_ , as they had become in their seven years together.

But Steve hadn’t brushed it off. Rather, he’d taken it as step one. And then he’d dug in.

Danny’d slept on the sofa that night, while Steve had gone up to bed. In the morning, Steve had called Danny, from upstairs, to thank him for the night before, and ask if he wanted to join him in the kitchen for coffee. It was the most absurd, and if you must know, the sweetest, phone call after a night of making out that Danny’d ever heard. So they’d met up in the kitchen, had coffee, made some breakfast, and then Danny’d gone home to shower before work. When he made it to the office later that morning, there’d been a single white hibiscus bloom sitting on his desk, in a paper coffee cup. Steve had never admitted to it, but Danny knew it was him. And, please don’t ever tell the big goof, but Danny’d kept that flower. Pressed it once it faded, between two legal notepads in his bottom desk drawer.

That had been a month ago.

Since then, Steve had patiently settled into a routine of asking Danny on dates, and Danny had settled into a pattern of refusing. Until tonight. He wasn’t sure why he’d slipped up. Had his guard been down? Lulled into a false sense of security by his partner’s arm slinging and “buddy”ing? Or was it that North Shore breeze? The pineapple plantations? Some intoxicating bloom distinct to the area? He sighed, and as he did, he allowed himself to admit the possibility that he was just simply tired of refusing. Tired of pretending that night on Steve’s sofa hadn’t been a wonderful night (one of the most wonderful nights he remembered having, if he was being honest). Done resisting the notion that it wasn’t something he wanted. Kind of desperately wanted.

He realized he was watching Steve intently. Having settled into his playing, he was watching his fingering, sunglasses off now the sun was mostly down. God, he was beautiful. Most of the time, Danny saw his partner: the powerful, intense, and sometimes downright terrifying Navy SEAL who was more comfortable with explosives than he was talking about emotions. But sometimes he saw this other person. A tender, loving, caring person who liked to look after his ohana far more than he liked cleaning his guns (despite what Danny sometimes said). And the thing that totally amazed Danny about that was that those people were not at odds with each other. He tended to think that most people were basically who they seemed to be. Especially not-subtle people like Steve, Blow-It-Up McGarrett. But there was no doubting that Steve was a big softie. Yet there was also no doubt that Steve was a tough guy—probably the toughest Danny’d ever known. And both were Steve-to-a-T. And Danny loved them both.

Steve had stopped playing, and caught Danny’s expression, which had no doubt softened into something really fond.

“Careful there, buddy, your resolve is slipping.”

“Shut up,” Danny whispered.

“Okay,” Steve started to smirk, then thought better of it and pressed his lips together to stop it.

Danny took one of those breaths you take when you’re trying to work your courage up to do something you realize you do actually want to do but you’re not quite ready to admit it just yet. He settled himself on his back, feeling the warmth from the sand slowly seep into his body. Steve went back to playing. As he allowed himself to relax—the soft strumming of the guitar blending nicely with the sound of the waves, his stomach was full, his heart was feeling pretty darn full as well, and his mind was, for once, not running round in frantic circles. What harm could it do to allow this, just for an hour?

After about half an hour, Steve stopped playing. Danny had expected him to make a move, to at least settle down on the blanket next to him. But he didn’t. Not wanting to admit that he was disappointed by that, Danny tried not to think too much about what it meant that he was.

“Come on, buddy, we’d better head home.” Steve stood, and held out a hand to help Danny up. Danny took it, and almost imagined he’d be pulled into a kiss. But he wasn’t. This was getting a little frustrating. Steve did open the truck door for him, although that was in part to put the blanket and his guitar away in the back. He let Danny pick the music for the ride home, drove the speed limit, and didn’t once say anything annoying, or try anything untoward. When Steve dropped Danny off at his house, saying he’d pick him up in the morning (they’d left the Camaro at the office, but hadn’t wanted to go back for it that night), he didn’t try and kiss him.

It took Danny a long time to get to sleep that night.

 

Steve showed up at Danny’s house the next morning with coffee and malasadas.

Opening the door to that did things to Danny’s insides that really should be illegal. He stood there, eyes closed, as if that would block out the feelings, but it seemed to only make it worse. When he opened his eyes, he saw that grin—the smug “I got it right” one.

“On the list?” Steve asked. But it wasn’t really a question.

Danny shook his head in exasperation, but took the coffee Steve held out to him, and stepped aside to let him in.

 

The next day at lunchtime, Danny was still at his desk, trying to get some paperwork finished before the weekend—he had the kids, and he didn’t want to have to come in—when Steve walked into his office without knocking, and spread that same picnic blanket out on the floor. Danny was pretty sure there would still be sand in it, and he was about to scold Steve for getting his office dirty, but then he saw the wrappers of those sandwiches he so loved, in Steve’s other hand, and Danny was grinning eagerly before he could help himself.

Steve took a piece of paper out from his pocket, stole a pen from Danny’s desk, and after writing something down, put the pen back, and gestured for Danny to sit.

 

Sunday night, just after the kids had gone home with Rachel, Steve showed up on Danny’s doorstep with a bottle of wine, and two small take out containers.

“Were you waiting? Or did you tail my ex wife?”

“Rachel likes me, Danny.”

“Um....”

Steve went into the kitchen, and unable to help himself, Danny followed. His head had started buzzing at Steve’s comment about Rachel. Was that even possible? How had that happened? He watched Steve open the bottle of wine, put the contents of the containers on plates (a really dark chocolate cake, and something with whipped cream and strawberries), grab two forks, and head back out to the living room, carrying the desserts. Danny took two wine glasses out of a cupboard, picked up the bottle of wine, and, steeling himself for what he was afraid would follow, went after him.

“Steven, what are you playing at?” Danny asked, putting the wine glasses and bottle on the coffee table, but staying standing, on the side away from the sofa, where Steve had already made himself comfortable, though he hadn’t touched his cake yet.

“Danny, I am not playing at anything. Just cake and wine, thought it’d be nice after your weekend with the kids.”

If he was honest, cake and wine was just about exactly what he wanted right then, but he refused to imagine how Steve had known that. With what was probably the next generation version of that still-fighting-it-but-on-the-verge-of-giving-in sigh, he sat, took a gulp of the wine (which was rich and fruity), and settled in to eat the chocolate cake.

Half way in he set the plate down, turned to Steve. “Okay, you win.”

Steve seemed to be surprised by that. “What?”

“I’ll go on a date with you.”

Steve put his wine glass down and turned to face Danny. “I hate to break it to you, but we’ve been going on dates all week, buddy.”

Danny’s mouth kind of fell open before he could help it. “You can’t just decide that those were dates.”

“Sure I can.” Steve grinned hugely.

“You have got to be kidding me.” (There went those eyes again, rolling. Ugh.)

“Nope.” He picked his wine up again. Wisely chose not to go for the strawberry and whipped cream cake, which he hadn’t started, possibly because he suspected Danny had been eyeing it.

“Well,” Danny prompted, irritated Steve wasn’t responding more eagerly to his finally agreeing to a date. “Are you going to take me on a real date?”

After a thoughtful sip: “How were those not real?”

Narrowly avoiding aggressively sighing, Danny tried to be reasonable. “I mean one where you put on nice clothes, behave in a civilized manner, and take me out somewhere nice.”

“Danny. I would happily do that.”

“Okaaay, but?”

Steve put his glass down again, and turned sideways on the sofa, taking Danny’s hands in his. “I like these dates just as much. Maybe more.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, buddy.” He tugged on Danny’s hands. “And what’s more, I think you do too.”

Danny felt stunned. He certainly appreciated the wine and cake notion, he’d already admitted that one felt like Steve had reached inside his head and chosen exactly the right thing. The coffee and malasadas had been perfect as well—though, full disclosure, there weren’t many mornings that wouldn’t be the case. And the sandwiches on the picnic blanket... well, truth be told, being interrupted in the middle of too much work for a meal on the office floor, okay, yeah, who didn’t have that on their list of incredibly sweet things a lover might do? Going out was nice, don’t get Danny wrong on this. But... those things were more meaningful, and not just because they were reactions to how Danny was feeling in the moment—and that, after all, is the most romantic, most intimate, most attentive... yeah, okay. He liked those things best. Of course he did.

“Look,” Steve continued, moving closer. “I want all of it. I want the fancy nights out, the picnics on the beach, the cozy nights in. I just want to be with _you_. I want to take you out on a date not because that means more to me than being at home with you.” He paused, as though he were trying to find the right words. Danny was impressed. Steve was doing remarkably well with words over this. “Daniel. I need you to know that I’m serious, I’m not just messing around.”

Maybe it was the use of his full name, he wasn’t sure. But Danny lunged forward at that, essentially launching himself at Steve, landing, securely (of course), in Steve’s arms.

And so it was that they ended up in round two of on-the-sofa-making-out. And every night that next week, they went out on “real” dates. But the week after that, they stayed in. And Steve was right. Danny really did prefer those nights.


End file.
